Doctor Who

In Great Britain, Doctor Who is Harry Potter-huge. And with good reason.

A blue police box doesn’t mean much to us Americans. But to the Brits, no matter how old, no matter how young, a blue police box is as iconic as the Death Star. As are killer pepperpot robot-aliens screaming “EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!”

In Great Britain, Doctor Who is Harry Potter-huge. And with good reason: There have been 31 seasons, 47 years, and 11 actors playing the title role.

The Doctor — the eccentric Time Lord — is always hurtling through the stars, into the past, into the future, in his little blue police box spaceship. He’s always saving the day, running through corridors, waving his sonic screwdriver all about, and spouting off techno-babble. He’s always got a passenger or two hitching a ride, someone to talk to, someone to show off around.

But this season, the Doctor Who dream team’s in charge. New show-runner Stephen Moffat, currently the world’s best sci-fi TV writer, teamed up with Matt Smith, the best Doctor in Who history.

Moffat’s responsible for Who’s greatest episodes. Like all great sci-fi authors, (Asimov, Bradbury) Moffat takes an inspired idea, say, a stone statue monster that only moves when you blink, and then extrapolates the consequences to fantastic places.

David Tennant, the previous Doctor actor, threw himself into his role with a childlike glee. But you could always see Tennant acting. With Smith, the iconic Doctor quirkiness isn’t something he puts on — it’s like something that’s been bubbling inside him for his entire life that he’s just now letting out. Smith is the eccentric Time Lord.

He’s manic, he’s silly, he’s brilliant, he’s angry, he’s got a craving for fishsticks dipped in custard. He’s in a perpetual gangly and spastic dance on that zig-zag edge of genius and dangerous-weird. He’s Willy Wonka, with all of time and space as his chocolate factory.

Lately, we Americans seem to think creating good sci-fi means splattering it with bleak: Make it dark, make it dirty, make it raspy. But Who, channeling the joy of a Neil Gaiman or Terry Pratchett story, pursues clever and fun, and stumbles across good sci-fi along the way.

The Boondocks The Spokesman-Review never ran the Boondocks comic
strip. Perhaps our fair(-skinned) city isn’t quite the target
demographic for Aaron McGruder’s brand of cynical African-American
humor. Nevertheless, this cartoon show perfectly captures the
politically incorrect acidity of the strip. Also, it says the “N-word.”
Of course, the three-year delay between seasons means that we get
ripped-from-the-headlines humor based on Barack Obama’s election as
president. Oh, and “don’t tase me, bro.” (Sundays, 11 pm, Cartoon
Network)

MTV’s Ultimate Parkour Challenge Ah,
parkour: the fad that launched a million YouTube-fueled
hospitalizations. The world’s best free-runners have to get from point
A to point B in the fastest time, by jumping, climbing, sliding and,
occasionally, landing very hard on very bad places in very painful
ways. (MTV, Thursdays, 10:30 pm)

The Good Guys Old-school
washed-up cop paired up with young modern cop isn’t a fresh premise.
But two things make this series potentially awesome: The crimes are
very minor (a stolen humidifier), and it stars Bradley Whitford (The West Wing) with a killer moustache. (Fox, Wednesdays, 8 pm)